War Echoes
by Silverblind
Summary: The drums of war echo once more across the land as the battle against the Lick King rages far to the North. Traitors and plots are brought to light as two beings struggle not to drown into the ashes of history.
1. Chapter 1

**This is set pre-Cataclysm, so no worgens, goblins or Warchief Garrosh.**

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><p>The Sentinels kept raiding the northern borders of the Barrens… Adventurers had even been seen near the Crossroads… Northwatch was eerily calm and silent, surely they were planning something… An entire grunt battalion had been lost at the hands of a Sentinel Elite Squad which had pushed as far as Sen'Jin village unnoticed…<p>

Thrall delicately pinched the bridge of his nose in a very human-like manner as he sighed under the pressure of all these news. This move usually intrigued or irritated the person he was talking to. Luckily, he was alone right now, save for his elite guards, who were used to see him do this strange and unfamiliar gesture.

Open war with the Alliance was out of the question, even though they seemed to prod and taunt more and more with each day that went by. The Horde was already weakened by the coup in Undercity and the war with the Scourge. Even if both factions could, at least for a time, fight alongside each other in Northrend, it was another story on the rest of Kalimdor.

The Warchief sighed and rubbed his forehead. The sun had long since set on Durotar, but he couldn't bring himself to abandon the stack of paperwork that awaited his attention.

He leaned against the back of his throne, where he was sitting. Even now that he was allowing himself a few minutes of rest, his head was flooded with thoughts of the ongoing issues he had to face. As the threat of the black dragons came to his mind, his thoughts drifted to Theramore, and more precisely to Jaina. They had not talked in quite a long time, and he somehow missed the friendly conversations they always had when they did meet. He wondered how she was, and felt a hint of worry cross his mind, for the last time she had shared her concerns with him, the matter was rather serious.

He still remembered the anxious look on her face as she told him what was ailing her. He remembered how his skin had crawled and how lost she had seemed, for the first time since he knew her.

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><p>"<em>I received an ultimatum from Stormwind."<em>

_They were both standing on the hill overlooking Razor Hill, where they always met. She was sitting on the very edge of the cliff, her legs dangling towards the ground below. He sat beside her, and listened as she shared her concerns with one of her dearest friend._

"_And what are they asking for?" Thrall asked._

_She sighed, at the same time blowing a stray lock of golden hair out of her eyes. Her hair blazed in crimson and orange as the sun slowly disappeared to the East._

"_They ask that I disrupt any contact I have with the Horde," she answered._

_Her eyes, which had been staring far ahead for the whole time, quickly shifted to him before returning to their original target._

"_With you," she added. _

_She allowed, perhaps involuntarily, a flash of pain to cross her eyes. They stayed silent a long time before he spoke again. They both knew of the question that hung heavily in the air, and Thrall finally took a deep breath and spoke._

"_And… will you obey?" He asked. _

"_I…"_

_She bit her lower lip, so hard he feared it may bleed._

"_I don't know."_

"_But what will happen if you refuse?" He said quietly._

_Her eyes slammed shut and she rubbed her forehead. She leaned forward, dangerously close to slipping off the cliff. Yet, Thrall made no move to hold her back. He knew she wouldn't fall._

"_I don't even want to think about it," she muttered grimly._

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><p>His thoughts were interrupted by a crackling sound right before him. He straightened in his throne as his guards strained, eyes set on the middle of the room, where nothing was yet to be seen.<p>

Suddenly a yell was heard and a staggering, small form stumbled out of a half-formed portal. Thrall stood as his guards drew their weapons, everyone recognizing the frail, delicate frame of a human woman. But the Warchief soon recognized the intruder's long, golden hair and blue cloak, despite her hooded face, and raised his hand.

"Hold!" He shouted as he almost ran to support the small silhouette.

The trespasser literally fell into his arms, and it took her a moment to look up. The Warchief couldn't help but recoil when her face was exposed to him.

"Jaina…!" He called. "What happened?"

The guards exchanged interrogating looks. Their Warchied usually was calm and impassive, yet there he was, kneeling next to the human sorceress, with a look of sincere concern on his face. They were all intrigued, yet none of them dared to step forward to see what was disturbing him in such a way.

"It's nothing Thrall, it's not important," she answered. "I…"

Her knees almost gave out, contradicting the words that she had just spoken, and she had to grab her friend's shoulder with both hands. Her hood slipped, revealing to her face to the rest of the people present in the room. A few guards could not contain a gasp. She had a long and deep gash spreading from her temple to the middle of her cheek, and the injury bled an awful lot, covering the right side of her face and neck with blood. A part of her hair was soaked with the red liquid, and even though her face remained listless, the pain she felt could be seen in her eyes.

"What happened, Jaina?" Thrall asked, laying her down on the floor. "Tell me!"

His voice was a deep growl, and anyone who looked at him guessed that whoever work this was, they would pay dearly.

Jaina averted her eyes, opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and then opened it again.

"Stormwind," she whispered.

"… What about it?" He asked.

His eyes then widened in realization and disbelief.

"They didn't…" he started.

Jaina nodded. She sat up, pushing the Warchief's hands away as he was about to push her back down on the furs that littered the floor.

"I need to go back," she said, determination shining in her eyes. "I wanted to teleport inside my tower, but it seems that, in my state of panic, I… made a false move."

She stood, staggered, and started to cast her spell. Yet she was interrupted by Thrall grabbing her wrist.

"You're in no state to cast such a spell," he said in a low, rumbling voice. "Teleporting many people demands much strength."

For a short moment her stone mask was replaced by confusion, but she quickly regained her composure.

"I'm alone," she answered.

"No, you are not, friend," the Warchied answered. "We're coming with you."

His eyes swept over all of the guards gathered in Grommash Hold.

"Aren't we, brothers?" He asked.

After a second of hesitation, they all raised a hand to their chest and saluted.

"Yes, Warchief!"

A smile briefly stretched Jaina's lips. Even though she knew this action could only be alleged as an act of treason to Stormwind, _they_ were the ones slaughtering her people right now, and she wouldn't stand idle.

"Then there is no time to waste," she said, putting as much strength as she could muster in her voice.

A Horde mage was quickly fetched, and the troll's brows only briefly furrowed at the unusual request. A portal was soon opened, and the twenty Kor'Kron Elites stepped through it to join the Theramore soldier in their desperate battle against members of their own race. Placing a soothing hand on Jaina's shoulder, the Warchief followed his Elite Guards, and the portal closed behind the two leaders.

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><p>When they stepped into Theramore they were greeted with screams of pain and victory. The sight was sickening. Humans of both cities ripped their own brothers' flesh in a foolish battle, ignoring their common ancestors and history. Yet the Orcs could not stand idle for too long, as their arrival had not gone unnoticed. Many eyes turned toward them, and the Theramore soldiers, seeing their Lady stand beside the Warchief, quickly understood that the Orcs, for once, were not there to slaughter them, but to aid them. Stormwind soldiers sneered, their eyes narrowing upon noticing Thrall's hand on Jaina's shoulder. The Kor'Kron soon rushed into the battle, their mighty war cries echoing eerily within the stone fortifications.<p>

"LOK'TAR OGAR!"

Thrall drew Doomhammer from his belt, and, with a last look toward Jaina, who smiled reassuringly at him, he also jumped into the battle. He swung his hammer toward a man that came to his right and broke his ribcage with a single, powerful blow. He broke another's skull, and turned around to face any opponent that would dare approach him.

He did not enjoy killing, nor did he believe it could bring some kind of honor or recognition. Yet somehow this felt right. This felt fair.

Because they had hurt Jaina.

As he swung his hammer for the countless time, he allowed his eyes to wander and search the battlefield for her. He easily found her. She was bravely standing her ground despite her weakened state. She had teleported to the inn's roof and shot fireballs at any Stormwind soldier in range. He smiled.

There was still a chance for all to be alright again.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading. Please leave a review. =)<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

The battle was fierce and the losses, tremendous for both sides, but Theramore finally prevailed over Stormwind's small expeditionary force as the sun dipped into the ocean to the east. The bloody light of the setting sun lit the exhausted men's face as the last of Stormwind's soldiers laid down their blades. Many sighed in relief when the men stretched their empty palms before them, swords clattering against the stone pavements as hands dropped them in defeat. The collective relief was short-lived, however, for a harsh, commanding shout quickly shattered the calm which had settled upon the small town.

"Proudmoore! What is the meaning of this?"

A short, muscular man had roughly shouldered his way to the first row, still clutching a sword in his bloodied hands. His face was red with anger and malevolence, his black, porcine eyes searching the crowd for the sorceress.

"Who are you?" Jaina asked imperiously as she made her way to the front row, closely followed by a blood-covered but seemingly intact Thrall.

The short man sneered and stepped forward menacingly, but a grunt and a waving sword made him step back.

"Answer," came a soldier's gruff order.

"Caporal Lieber," the man spat reluctantly, the spark of hate in his eyes flaring up at the sight of the Warchief.

"Well, Caporal," she said, her voice firm as she glared daggers at her interlocutor," I believe it is _you_ who should explain."

The man sneered again, and when he spoke his voice dripped venom:

"I do not take orders from a traitor."

Jaina's brows furrowed as cries of protest and indignation rose amongst the crowd, and she opened her mouth to speak but a deep voice cut her off.

"Traitor?" Snarled Thrall incredulously as he stepped in front of her. "You _dare _to brand her a traitor?"

His blue eyes had darkened in fury and an animalistic sneer marred his usually calm features. He stared down at the caporal, gripping his hammer tightly with barely contained rage. The man unwittingly took a step back, and the Warchief could see fear creep in behind his eyes.

"I wonder _who _should be called a traitor here," the orc growled.

His eyes rose to the men gathered around him as he straightened to his full height.

"Yes, I wonder who the traitors are," he bellowed, and his voice echoed a thousand times in the heavy silence of the battlefield. "Stormwind, who attacked a small town of its own faction without warning? Or perhaps _I_ am, since I helped a human. A friend in need, a sister in arms, yes, but a human nonetheless."

The Warchief's eyes settled back onto the caporal, and his voice was but a low growl when he spoke again.

"Yes, we may both be traitors, _caporal. _But in no way will I allow you to use such a word to describe the people of Theramore."

Silence followed the Warchief's tirade, and the atmosphere became heavier with its weight. The men, Stormwind's and Theramore's alike, shifted uneasily as it dragged on, staring everywhere but at the Warchief and his interlocutor. Their eyes were quickly drawn back to Thrall, however, as a short, cynical bark of laughter echoed in the cool air of dusk. A sinister smile had settled onto the caporal's lips, and his eyes shone with malevolence.

"A sharp tongue for an orc, that's for sure," Lieber hissed, "but nothing more. Stormwind's army is already on its way. You're all going to die, and I'll be a hero!"

The maniacal laughter that rose from the man's throat was too much for Thrall to bear. With a roar, his fist connected with the man's jaw, sending him head first upon the ground, his skull cracking sickeningly upon impact. The Warchief turned away with a grunt and noticed Jaina's small, approving nod as he met her eyes. The shadow of a smile passed on his lips as the sorceress waved her hand, and a blue orb of arcane energy formed around the remaining Stormwind's soldiers, trapping them into an inescapable prison. Turning away from the makeshift cage, she finally spoke, her eyes sweeping over the silent town, as if committing each of its detail to memory.

"We must get the civilians to safety before the rest of Stormwind's army gets here," she said, and her voice was steady. "We cannot withstand another assault. We will have to leave as well. For now, Theramore is lost."

She took a deep breath and turned to the keep, where the civilians had been hidden when Stormwind had first attacked. The bravest had already come out, and they stared, terrified and disgusted, at the bodies covering the ground of their beloved Theramore.

"Prepare the civilians, let them take only what is necessary" she ordered to the waiting soldiers. "I will open a portal to Astrannar. There's no time to waste."

Saluting, the soldiers made their way to the keep. As orders and shouts began to rise, Jaina turned to Thrall, who was waiting a few meters away with his warriors. She smiled tiredly as she put her hand on his arm.

"Thank you, friend," she said quietly. "If it hadn't been for you and your warriors…"

Her words lingered between them, neither daring to finish her dreadful phrase. After a few seconds of silence the Warchief smiled as well, although there was a hint of sadness in his eyes when he spoke.

"You should know I could not stand idle at your plea," he replied. "I would help you more, but I fear I would be little more than a hindrance to you from now on."

"Don't say that," she answered with a slight frown. "You saved my people and my life. I cannot – and will not – ask more of you."

Stepping away, she turned to the few remaining kor'krons, bowing low before them.

"Thank you, warriors," she said in orcish. "I-"

"Lady Proudmoore!"

A young boy had called for her, waving frantically at her while he approached.

"What is it?" She asked as he stopped before her.

Thrall had stepped closer, watching the teen intently. He hesitated for a second, his eyes briefly drifting from the sorceress to the Warchief before he finally spoke his piece.

"Ships are coming from the west," he said. "Undoubtedly from Stormwind. They're close, too. No more than two hours away."

A frown twisted Jaina's lips as the youth bowed before walking away. Thrall growled. Night had fallen now, and the only light came from the few torches the soldiers had lit to allow the citizens to gather what they needed. Thick black clouds covered the moon, and the sea was as dark and foreboding as the Styx itself.

"There's no time to lose, then," Jaina suddenly said, springing into action. "We must leave at once."

She turned to Thrall, and he could see nothing but resolve shining in her eyes. The ugly gash on her face had long since stopped bleeding, and her strength seemed to be coming back.

"Thanks again, Thrall," she said. "I will open a portal for you to go back to Orgrimmar."

She immediately turned away, missing the change in Thrall's expression at her words. His face had hardened, and he had opened his mouth to speak, but she had already stepped forward toward the waiting civilians. They were all ready now, and even though a few children were still crying, everyone was silent and determined.

"Step back, soldiers," she ordered. "I'll open the portal."

She closed her eyes and extended a hand before her, her muscles straining. Wild magic crackled around the sorceress, and the air seemed to twist and churn as Jaina wrestled with the arcane energies, bending them as she wished to form the portal that would save her people. As Astranaar finally appeared on the other side of the portal, she lowered her hand, smiling reassuringly at her people before taking a few unsteady steps back. The first soldiers were already stepping through to bring news of the situation to the Night Elves. Jaina knew Tyrande would never accept such a treacherous act to be committed against Theramore and would welcome the refugees. As she staggered dangerously, she felt a gentle hand on her back and another on her arm, steadying her. She stared up at Thrall gratefully as her people started stepping into the portal to the land of the night elves.

"Give me a few minutes and I'll open one for you," she gasped.

The battle had taken a lot out of her and, although she hadn't wanted to show it, she was utterly exhausted. At her words, Thrall's grip on her arm had tightened slightly. She gave him a quizzical look at the sudden change.

"No," he said.

She could not hide her astonishment.

"No?" she parroted.

"No," he confirmed.

"But… why?" She asked, shaking the Warchief's hands off.

Thrall's hands fell limply to his sides, and he watched as Jaina glared daggers at him. Despite her weakness, she stood tall and defiant.

"We will stay and defend the town," he answered, gesturing to the orc warriors behind him. "If we don't, the Barrens could be overrun, as well as Durotar. I will send a message to Orgrimmar, order them to prepare the army. But someone must stay here and delay them if we are to have a chance."

The moon had finally appeared from behind the clouds, and as her eyes flicked to the west, Jaina could see the ominous shadows of boats coming straight toward Theramore. They were dangerously close.

"But you are going to die!" She cried.

She had dropped the cool stone mask of a leader altogether. Everything in her screamed concern and fear for a friend, and her pleading eyes begged for him to listen to reason. He shrugged.

"It may be so, but is my life worth more than any other?"

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment before fear gave way to anger. When she opened her mouth to answer, a hand landed on her shoulder, cutting her off.

"Come, Lady Proudmoore. We must leave."

The voice belonged to an old friend, yet she shrugged the hand off and spoke coldly, as if to a stranger.

"Go. I will hold Sormwind's army back. Alone," she added, shooting Thrall a pointed look.

"But, milady-"

"I believe it is neither the time nor place to discuss order, Adrian," she snapped, calling the soldier by his first name. "Go."

The man saluted hesitantly as he stepped back. Her eyes had not left Thrall's. When the man was out of earshot, she stepped closer, her hands blling into fists at her sides.

"If you really want to stay, fine," she said firmly, her voice cold and harsh. "But I will not leave you. And…"

Her voice trailed off when the Warchief's hand rose. His calloused finger brushed her cheeks in the slightest of caress before landing upon her shoulder, softly, gently, his thumb lingering in her neck for a second. She found herself speechless at the unfamiliar, intimate contact. They had never touched apart from the formal handshake.

"You have to," he whispered, and there was a hint of sadness and regret in his voice.

His grip on her shoulder suddenly grew much tighter, almost painful, and his mouth twisted into a cruel sneer. He roughly pushed her toward the portal where a last group of soldiers waited still, staring at her with concern.

"They need you more than I do," he finally spat, but despite his harsh tone she thought she saw a flash of pain cross his eyes.

"Come with us, Lady Proudmoore," the soldier named Adrian pleaded, echoing the Warchief's words.

But Jaina did not hear him as Thrall's harsh words still rung in her ears. She stared back at him, and with a wave of her hand a portal to Orgrimmar opened between them.

"Don't be foolish, Thrall," she said.

Her tone had been soft, but her stone mask was back in place. She forced herself not to look back at the Warchief as she turned away, facing her men.

"Come," she said firmly. "Let us go."

Nobody noticed the single tear that rolled down her cheek before crashing upon the bloodied pavement of Theramore as she crossed the portal, followed by the rest of the soldiers. The portal closed behind the last of them, and silence fell once more as Thrall was left alone with his warriors, the second portal shimmering before him. He could make out the tall red cliffs of Durotar on the other side, and thought perhaps selfishly that he could go now and leave his warriors to defend the town while he prepared the army himself. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind he banished it. He was no coward, and he would be more useful here.

He turned toward his men. From the twenty kor'krons he had brought with him, only a dozen were still alive, and they were all in bad shape. He could heal minor wounds, but he didn't have time to heal everyone completely. His eyes flicked to the sea, and his breath hitched in his throat at the sight of the alliance ships. He had one hour at most, certainly not enough to heal all of them. His eyes came back to his warriors, his gaze lingering over each of their faces. They were weary and injured, but they stood tall, their backs straight and their chins held high. He knew they already knew what he had planned, and that they wouldn't question his motives. Even though this was a human town, they would defend it with their lives. His eyes settled on a young orc warrior. He was probably the most wounded. One of his hands had been severed, and although he had done his best to bandage it with what he could find, his green skin was pale as blood drained from him uncontrollably. Many gaping wounds marred his body, but he would survive. Perhaps.

"Ereng," the Warchief said, calling the young orc by his first name. "I want you to step though that portal."

The young warrior had straightened at the call of his name, but had faltered somewhat at Thrall's request.

"Warchief…?" He stammered, brows furrowed.

"Return to Orgrimmar," Thrall said calmly, placing his hand on the younger orc's shoulder. "Warn our brothers, and order Garrosh to prepare our army."

Ereng's eyes flicked from his leader to his companions, who were not looking at him. His eyes settled back on Thrall, and he opened his mouth to speak, undoubtedly in protest. The Warchief silenced him, his voice covering the other's first words.

"Go. The fate of our people is in your hands."

After a split second of hesitation, the young orc squared his shoulders and saluted.

"Yes, Warchief."

Without looking back he stepped forward and crossed the portal. It faded behind him, and for a second Thrall wondered if he had made the right choice. But he did not have time to dwell on this as the ships were now close enough to fire at Theramore's fortifications.

The first cannonball crashed into Jaina's tower. The building immediately collapsed, the ominous rumble of stones falling apart covering any other sound.

"Move!" Thrall shouted as stones and glass shards plummeted down around the small group of warriors.

As they moved the rest of the structure came tumbling down in a deafening roar of shattered stone. Two other cannonballs were fired, crashing into the ramparts and partially destroying them. The first ships had reached the docks by then, but nobody was stepping off them.

"Ready your weapons," Thrall hissed, drawing Doomhammer from his belt for the second time this day.

As the orcs carefully stepped forward, a gangplank emerged from the first boat, slamming harshly against the wood of the docks, and a lone man came forward. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and even though Thrall could not yet see his face he seemed oddly familiar. And when the man spoke, his unmistakable voice shattering the silence of the night, Thrall felt his anger flare up inside of him.

"I see Jaina has called her lapdog," Varian Wrynn said mockingly as he stepped forward, stopping a few meters away from the Warchief and his men. "What has she promised you this time to make you help her? Her support? Her gold?"

His eyes narrowed when the Warchief did not answer. A sneer curled his lips.

"Her body?"

He had said the words with such disgust and contempt that Thrall felt his fury roar, begging for him to let go, to jump on this man and tear him apart. The Warchief could barely reign it in as he took a half-step forward. The king's sneer turned into an odious smirk.

"Yes, I thought as much," he whispered, as if for himself.

"Varian," Thrall said, and his voice was calm despite the crushing grip he held on his weapon. "Fancy seeing you here."

His eyes swept over the still unmoving ships. There were at least a dozen of them, each undoubtedly carrying no less than a hundred soldiers. He feigned surprise.

"So you need the whole of your army to take a small town of your own faction?" He asked, arching a brow at the man before him. "I knew you were a coward, but to see you sink so low somehow saddens me."

The smirk did not fade from Varian's lips, but his fingers flexed and twitched, coming dangerously close to the swords strapped at his hips. Soldiers had finally started coming off the ships, and Thrall realized their number to be even greater than what he had first thought. So he had been right. It was not only an attack on Theramore. Their final goal was clear. Orgrimmar. Maybe even Thunder Bluff. He ground his teeth painfully. He prayed to the ancestors Ereng had succeeded.

"It is fortunate that Jaina should have fled," the king finally said, drawing his twin blades. "I need to finish what I began at the Wrathgate, and this time she's not there to stop me."

Without warning he rushed forward, and Thrall braced himself for the oncoming blow. The king crashed into him with terrible force, and the Warchief pushed him backwards. Before he could swing his hammer, a blade came for his side, and he swiftly parried. From the corner of his eyes he saw his warriors preparing to intervene, but he could not have them wasting their strength now.

"No!" he shouted as he swung Doomhammer towards the king's head. "Stay back!"

He missed, and the force of his blow tipped him off balance. He saw a silvery flash as one of Varian's blade sliced the air toward his neck, and he closed his eyes. He had no mean of avoiding or parrying such a blow. The picture of a blonde sorceress flashed through his mind, and he was grateful she was the last thing he would think about before he died. He fell heavily upon the ground, however, without anything piercing his neck. He quickly opened his eyes, and saw that the king was frozen into a great block of ice, his face fixed in a hateful snarl, his sword stopped mid-stab.

"Thrall, move away!"

He obeyed, rolling away a split second before the king freed himself and completed the murderous arch he had started, his blade clattering violently against the stone pavement where Thrall had been but a second ago. As the Warchief clambered to his feet, his mind finally registered what he had just heard. This voice…

His eyes rose and he saw her. Jaina. Jaina was there, perched atop the pile of rubbles which had been her tower, a fireball in her hand as her eyes glared daggers at the king. Varian had straightened, and he was about to strike the Warchief from behind when the fireball left her fingers, hitting him square in the chest and knocking him back a few meters.

"What are you doing here?" Thrall asked as Jaina rushed to his side, another fireball ready in her hands.

"You need me more than they do," was her only answer before Varian jumped back to his feet.

"Attack!" the human bellowed as he rushed forward himself. "I want the slave and the bitch alive!"

The Earth seemed to shake as Stormwind's soldiers stepped forward, their face contorted into bloodlust and rage, their weapons held high. The small orcish troop seemed to be rooted in place.

"LOK'TAR OGAR!"

A young female orc had snapped back to her senses, gripping her axe tighter as she lifted it above her head in defiance. The battle cry seemingly brought the other warriors back to life as they echoed her chant.

"LOK'TAR OGAR!"

"LOK'TAR OGAR!" Thrall and Jaina shouted in a desperate attempt to drown out the sound of the thousand soldiers coming at them.

Unconsciously they grabbed at nothing, both of them searching for the other's hand without finding it. It was too late.

Everything went black.

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><p><strong>I planned for Thrall to make a speech after Jaina's departure, but I decided to remove it. I wonder if it would have been clearer if I had left it… please tell me.<strong>

**That was an exceptionally long chapter for me (3 hours writing straight... my back hurts), I hope I didn't put anyone off… I felt this all needed to be told in the same chapter. Bear with me. The next chapters will be back to normal.**

**Please review.**


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